


All Those Painful Lessons You've Had To Learn

by ashavahishta



Series: 2012 'Verse [3]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-16
Updated: 2012-07-16
Packaged: 2017-11-10 03:04:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/461537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashavahishta/pseuds/ashavahishta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry and Louis get made to do a lot of horrible things for the sake of image, but having to be separated during their break is one of the worst so far. They cope the only way they know: by dreaming of a better future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Those Painful Lessons You've Had To Learn

Louis is given the news a few days before they are due to leave the U.S.  
  
It feels like being hit with a truck.  
  
“But...” he says blankly. He leans forward with his hands fisting in his hair, trying to remind himself to breathe as panic floods his body. There’s a voice in the back of his head saying ‘nonononononononononononono’ in an ongoing plea, and all Louis can think is, ‘oh please, let this not be happening.’  
  
“I just saw her last week,” Louis says, and his voice comes out weak and uncomprehending. “I just-- just last week!”  
  
“Yes, but it just looks better if it seems like you can’t stay away from each other,” Paula explains patiently. “Liam went to the Bahamas with Danielle last time you had a break, and you know how the fans compare your relationships.”  
  
“But I want to see my family,” Louis says, and he knows he’s glaring when he looks up. “You can’t...you can’t keep me away from my family, that’s not fucking fair.”  
  
Paula returns his gaze with cool-eyed dispassion. “You can see your family once you fulfil your obligations, Louis. This is not negotiable.”  
  
“Tony,” Louis says desperately, looking to another member of their management. Anthony enforces the rules just as hard as Paula does, but he has been known to be a little more empathetic. “Tony, please, I-- I just want to go home.”  
  
Anthony has the grace to look slightly uncomfortable. “I’m sorry, Lou. You know this is what you signed up for in the beginning. Your hands are tied and so are ours.”  
  
"But--"  
  
Louis tries every single thing he can possibly think of. He begs, he cajoles, he tries to compromise ("please, I'll kiss her properly next time we get papped, just--"), and after all he's met with are blank, empty stares, he turns to anger.  
  
"This is bull," he sputters. He knows his eyes have narrowed dangerously and his face feels pinched with annoyance. "This is total, sodding, complete arse. Aren't you supposed to be working for us?! Aren't you supposed to be keeping me happy?"  
  
"Of course," Paula says pleasantly. "Which is why you've been allowed to continue your relationship in the first place, Louis. We've all made concessions for this situation, and we're all making an effort to make it work."  
  
He argues for as long as he has the energy to do so, his anger burning bright in his chest. Finally, after he's yelled and sworn and maybe even thrown a cushion or two (Louis won't use the word 'tantrum' but it's probably what it is), Louis is politely asked to leave the room and prepare himself to travel to France in a few days time.  
  
  
Louis is unsure how, exactly, he finds his way back to the tour buses. Possibly it has a lot to do with Paul, the larger man a solid and comforting presence at his side. Louis feels like a complete mess of emotion--anger and frustration and sadness, a deep, gnawing guilt and worse...complete helplessness. He's never felt so powerless in his life, never so utterly trapped. If he refuses to see Eleanor, it will mean consequences for Harry: another older woman coming forward about an illicit affair. Worse still, their management could bring out the big guns any day now, and facing legal action for breach of contract is not something Louis has ever been prepared to deal with.  
  
He wonders, though, if that could possibly be worse than what he feels right now. Wonders if breaking the rules, ruining everything, would be worse than the fact that Louis is about to break the hearts of his mother, his four sisters and his boyfriend in one fell swoop.  
  
He's never felt so low in his life.  
  
Most of their group is crowded into one bus, sitting or lounging in small groups or pairs. Niall and Josh appear to be engaged in an epic battle of wills over who gets the last burrito sitting on the table between them. Zayn is zoning out, his legs crossed at the ankle and headphones over his ears as he taps away at his phone. Liam and Harry are playing a videogame Louis doesn't recognise, which seems to involve a lot of yelling, gunshots, and possibly aliens.  
  
When Louis climbs the steps of the bus, Harry's gaze finds him and he lights up, his dimples appearing and his eyes soft and fond. It's a look Louis has known for nearly two years, something Harry only ever has for him, and yet it's something he's never quite gotten used to. Today, it just makes Louis' throat tighten and his mouth thins into an uncomfortable, forced smile.  
  
He doesn't know why he bothers pretending, because a second later Harry is frowning and putting his controller aside. "Lou, what's wrong?"  
  
Louis swallows and bites his lip painfully. He jerks his head in the direction of the bunks and Harry stands immediately, his brow furrowed in concern as he follows Louis into the more private back area.  
  
This particular bus actually has a small room at the very back, past the bunks, which allows for a slightly-larger-than-single bed and a tiny shower. It's where Harry and Louis generally call home while on tour, the band gracious enough to grant them a modicum of privacy and comfort.  
  
(For months they had put up with the bunks situation, going with the long-held tradition of rotating every few nights so that each boy was able to have the bed once in a while. It had been Niall, bless his heart, who suggested they just hand over the small room and allow it to become Harry and Louis' own, and it's been like that ever since.)  
  
Louis runs on instinct from the moment the door slides shut behind them, and that instinct is very simple: be in Harry's arms as quickly as possible. Harry sputters in confusion when Louis pushes him back onto the bed and wraps himself around the other boy like a demented spider monkey.  
  
He has no warning for what happens next; it's blind need to seek Harry's warmth and Louis is unprepared for the way the touch seems to push him over the edge into a complete emotional breakdown. He takes a shuddering breath and buries his face into Harry's chest, tears rising in his throat and stinging at the corners of his eyes.  
  
All Louis can think about his how happy his mum had sounded on the phone yesterday, excitedly making plans to cook his favourite meals, to bring his grandparents over to visit. _The twins have grown so much,_ she had gushed, _they're so excited to see you I don't think they'll sleep all week._ Phoebe's voice has sounded in the background then, high and sweet, filled with joy at the prospect of her big brother finally coming home.  
  
'Bring Harry this time, won't you Lou?' his mother had pleaded. 'You know we all want to see him too.' Louis had bit his lip and promised to do his best, both of them aware of what a big ask that could turn out to be.  
  
'Either way, we just can't wait to see you,' his mum had said. 'I miss you so much, sweetheart.'  
  
Her voice echoes in his head and Louis bites back a sob at the thought of having to disappoint her, of the phone call he will have to make in the next few days.  
  
"Talk to me," Harry is begging, his hand gentle in Louis' hair, arms tight around him. Louis shakes his head and just keeps crying, unable to bring himself to talk. Telling Harry about this could be the worst part of all and Louis can't handle the thought of it just yet.  
  
He thinks he's never cried so hard in his life; maybe when they were kicked off X-Factor he came close, but the sobs that are wracking his body right now are not something he's ever experienced. Louis lets it all rain down on him; recognising now that the crushing sadness has been building in him for weeks.  
  
There was the look on Harry's face when Eleanor had arrived for the second time, and how he'd shrugged Louis away from him in bed that night, frustrated and unhappy. He'd come around a bit the next day, giving in to Louis' cajoling kisses and sweet words, but it had felt like an empty victory. Louis didn't want Harry to forgive him; he didn't feel like he deserved it. He wished, sometimes, that Harry would just get _mad_ , that he'd yell and rant and throw things the way Louis wanted to lately. Instead, Harry just got sad, went quiet and mopey and sought cuddles from the other boys, listened to depressing music. Louis hated how defeated Harry seemed now, how he just accepted the way Louis hurt him instead of pushing for something better.  
  
Maybe he feels just as helpless as Louis does. Maybe he’s sick of fighting.  
  
Louis cries and cries until his head aches and his face is puffy and red. His fingers are clenched in Harry's t-shirt and Harry has gone silent, maybe recognising that what Louis needs right now is just to be held.  
  
He cries until he can't anymore, until he's drained and exhausted. Harry's lips are pressed to his forehead and his hand is rubbing circles on Louis' back. Louis feels awful for leaving him in the dark for so long; he can't imagine how worried he'd be if Harry came and sobbed on him for fifteen minutes with no explanation.  
  
"Sorry," he manages eventually, the word hiccuping out of him as he attempts to stem the sobs that are still making his chest heave.  
  
"Please just tell me what's wrong," Harry says, and he sounds almost as upset as Louis feels.  
  
Louis gets out the story haltingly, forcing himself to not give into the hot press of fresh tears behind his eyelids. Harry is silent by the time he's finished, but his hold hasn't loosened any and Louis is grateful; he feels like he’d just break into tiny little shards if Harry weren't holding him together right now.  
  
"I want to go home," Louis says, and his voice is broken and raw. He's not sure which home he means; to his mother and sisters, or to their flat. He wants both, aches for the comfort of his mother's arms and the familiarity of his and Harry's bed.  
  
"Me too," Harry replies, but his voice is higher than usual and distant. Louis recognises it as the tone Harry gets when he's trying to control his emotions, forcing himself to lie or hide something.  
  
He sits up a little and looks Harry in the eye for the first time since they entered the room. His own vision is blurred and his eyes feel sore and itchy from crying. Harry avoids his gaze and Louis waits him out.  
  
"I don't want to think about it," Harry admits softly, looking down into his lap. "I just. I can't stand the thought of you leaving when we were supposed to be on a break. I don't want to think about your mum missing you or how it's gonna feel to be at the flat without you. Lou, I can't--"  
  
And now it seems like _Harry_ is about to cry and Louis can't bear it, he just can't take that on top of everything else and he nearly throws himself at the other boy, this time to hold instead of be held. Harry makes a small whimpering noise against his neck and Louis shushes him with a hand in his curls, petting gently. "Please don't," he begs quietly. "If you cry you'll just get me going again and we'll be lying here sobbing for the rest of our lives. What a mess."  
  
Harry's reply is thick and wobbly. "At least we'd be together," he says, and Louis' heart clenches painfully. "Hey, we _are_ together," he reminds Harry. "Even if I'm in France or Africa or fucking Neptune, okay? I'm not-- this doesn't end, okay? You know that."  
  
"I know," Harry leans back enough so that they're both sitting facing each other. His eyes are shiny and his cheeks are pink but at least he's not crying. "I'm just so tired, Lou."  
  
Harry's voice is infused with so much suffering, so much exhaustion and anger and pain that Louis aches anew. Of all people, Harry doesn't deserve this. Beautiful, young, sweet Harry with the biggest heart Louis knows and the kindest soul. He's too young to know this kind of ache, too small to be shouldering this kind of burden. Louis feels it for himself sometimes, too, wonders when exactly he started to feel so old and so heavy with responsibility. Lately it's felt like all their charades, all their lies and all their hurt are a physical weight pressing down on his shoulders.  
  
Louis carries it as well he can, and sometimes he thinks he's taken on even more than Harry. Harry is incapable of outright denying their relationship; he actually cannot force himself to say the words and so it falls to Louis to do it, and it hurts a little more every time. He tries to work around it, twist his language enough that he's not explicitly denying anything, but with outright questions sometimes there's nowhere to go. The Toronto interview had been the worst; watching Harry's face crumple beside him and feeling how tense he'd gone when Louis threw an arm around his shoulders.  
  
That one had hurt, more than usual, and it didn't help that it had been within days of Louis having to take Eleanor on a 'date' to play mini-golf. They'd been told to amp up the couple-y poses and Louis had done so, wincing as his skin crawled with self-disgust.  
  
The guilt never quite goes away, that's the thing. No matter how often Louis tells himself that he's doing this to _keep_ their relationship, no matter how many times Harry tells him it's okay, he's fine, the guilt lingers. He's pretending to love another person entirely, holding her hand and letting her tweet cutesy pictures, talking about her in interviews (although he admits he's shite at that; half the times he forgets he's supposed to have a girlfriend). Harry is jealous and possessive at the best of times, a trait Louis recognises in himself as well. That's nice, knowing that he's Harry's and Harry is his, but it makes things even more difficult because Harry finds it harder to control his emotions when Eleanor is around. He can't seem to help staking his claim, hoarding Louis' attention and being all over him onstage. He left a dark hickey on Louis' neck the last time El left, close enough in timing that it could have been her but anyone close to them knew who had really marked him. Harry had been so smug with himself afterwards and all Louis had felt was a kind of exasperated fondness; he knew Harry was pushing it but he couldn't help but love feeling claimed like that.  
  
"I know you're tired," he murmurs. "So am I." Louis laughs self-pityingly. "I am so fucking tired."  
  
Harry doesn't reply, and they just kind of stare at each other for a few minutes. Louis tries to think of something to say, something hopeful and uplifting and sweet. He could say how much he loves Harry, could talk and talk about how they'll get through this and they'll be fine, just fine.  
  
But they've both heard it before, and there's only so many times you can repeat some things before they don't sound like words at all.  
  
The defeated slump of Harry's shoulders and the sad shine of his eyes is killing Louis but he has no energy to do anything about it. "Lay down with me," he requests and Harry agrees immediately, falling backwards onto the bed like his bones had suddenly turned to liquid. Louis crumples into him and for once it doesn't feel like they're holding each other together. It feels like they're collapsing, two trees being swept away by a river tide. Louis's been clinging to the bank for so long and he doesn't know how much strength he has left to hold on.  
  
"I hate everything," Harry whispers, and his heartbeat is a sad slow thump against Louis' cheek. Louis closes his eyes and swallows past the lump in his throat. "I know," he replies. "I know."  
  
  
  
Harry is distant for days.  
  
Louis understands, gets that Harry is hurt and a little lost right now. He feels pretty awful himself and he thinks them not spending time together is probably better than taking anything out on each other. It’s just rough, how out of sync they feel. They have time off for once and don’t spend it together, Louis shopping alone, Harry going golfing instead of joining the band’s trip to Universal. He even goes to the Coldplay concert by himself, carefully avoiding any questions as to why. That one stings a bit--Louis knows they wouldn’t have been allowed to go by themselves, but Niall is always willing to play buffer for them and Louis would have loved to go. Even so, Harry can’t seem to help involving him somehow. He texts Louis in extreme excitement at about 11pm, babbling something about lyric changes and Chris Martin, and Louis is so glad to know that Harry is happy he nearly tears up yet again. It’s been an extremely emotional week.  
  
They even ride in separate tour buses on the way to the last concert, and Louis chooses to get drunk with Liam instead of joining the party on Olly’s bus. It’s really more of a maudlin, sulking drunk than a fun one, but Liam doesn’t seem to mind. Liam’s excellent like that and Louis sprawls out with his head in Liam’s lap, letting himself babble about his feelings for what seems like forever.  
  
“Should’a seen the look on his face, Li,” he mumbles, his head swimming a little as he shifts to look up at Liam. He can see up his nose and it’s not exactly attractive but Louis soldiers past this. “Like I just stabbed him in the heart, right then and there. S’not. S’not right. You wouldn’t stab Dani in the heart, would you?”  
  
Liam makes an uncomfortable face. One of his hands is resting in Louis’ hair, big and solid. It’s not as magically comforting as Harry’s always seems to be, but it still feels really nice and Louis appreciates it.  
  
“Well, no,” Liam says. “But you didn’t literally stab him in the heart, Tommo. And you couldn’t really help it, either.”  
  
Louis sighs, feeling like Liam is missing the point here. “But! I still hurt him, didn’t I, huh? Still hurt him and I shouldn’t be allowed to do that.”  
  
“Sometimes you hurt the people you love,” Liam says wisely and it sounds like something Louis’ mum would say.  
  
“Yeah,” Louis agrees, and he should probably move before he passes out. “S’not right, though.”  
  
“No,” Liam pets his hair. “No, none of this is right.”  
  
Liam puts him to bed and Louis tugs him in there with him, because Harry has slept on the other bus two nights in a row now. Louis doesn’t know how to sleep alone anymore and Liam, at least, is sure and solid and doesn’t make Louis feel like he’s going to cry every time he looks at him. Liam allows it, wraps too-strong arms around him and tugs him against a too-broad chest. Louis nuzzles his nose into wrong-smelling skin and pushes his fingers into too-straight hair and goes to sleep.  
  
  
Things still aren’t exactly perfect the next morning, but it is their final day in Florida and Louis manages to convince a still-sombre Harry to relax by the pool with him for a few hours. Louis is nursing a mild hangover from the previous evening, so he basically just wants to lay around and spend time with Harry while he still can.  
  
It takes a little while to get Harry smiling properly, but Louis is an expert at making people laugh, and he's definitely an expert in Harry. They've only been out on the balcony for fifteen minutes by the time Louis manages to surprise a happy bark of laughter out of him.  
  
It always makes Louis smile, Harry's goofy little giggle and how he covers his mouth with his hand afterwards like he shocked himself with it. Harry starts talking to him properly after that and Louis forgets his hangover, enjoying himself.  
  
"Have you figured out what you want to do when you get home?" Louis asks, trying to rush past the part where he has to say 'you' instead of 'we.'  
  
Harry catches it anyway and his mouth turns down unhappily for a moment before he seems to decide to let it go. He pushes his curls out of his eyes, irritated by how they've started to go heavy and damp with humidity.  
  
"Not really," he says. "Lou wants help finding a new place, and Nick wants to catch up...erm, Mum and Gem wanna see me too, I guess," he shrugs.  
  
"Don't sound too excited there, babe," Louis goes for a light tone but it mostly comes out concerned.  
  
Harry shrugs again and he reaches down to fiddle with the single-stringed bracelet he's wearing. "It's just not how I wanted to spend the break, that's all," he says softly. "I was looking forward to...you know. 'Us' time."  
  
Louis sighs and lifts himself off his lounge chair. He leans against the railing of the balcony, can't help sending an irritated glare at the loud and rowdy group of fans on the ground below. The last thing he needs when he's having this conversation is a backing track of screaming teenagers.  
  
"I know."  
  
Harry's right, separation anxiety won't be the worst part of all of this. They're codependent, definitely, and Louis will feel more than strange without Harry beside him for the next week. But they've done it before and survived. The worst part of this is that the break _was_ supposed to be their time. Liam will go home to Danielle, Zayn will go home to Perrie, and Niall will go home to his friends. Harry and Louis don't have such luxuries, and Louis feels like they really _need_ it this time. They've been on edge for weeks, riding the emotional rollercoaster of Eleanor's visits and the horribly invasive American interviews. Harry's teared up on camera more than once, and Louis nearly tore his own hair out waiting for the interview to be over so he could drag Harry into the bathroom and hug him close.  
  
They _need_ this, need just a few days to be with each other, to not double- and triple-think every move and every word. It's exhausting, and Louis just wants to rest.  
  
"We'll have 'us' time," Louis promises.  
  
"Yeah, when's that?" Harry's voice has an edge to it that Louis is not very familiar with. Harry's generally very even-tempered; he'll get petulant or sulky but he almost never snaps and he definitely never yells. Louis has only ever heard this angry tone from him when he's completely fed up. "When's that, Lou?"  
  
Louis crosses his arms over his chest, not really able to help the way his hackles seem to rise defensively. "When I get back, okay?"  
  
"Right, when we're doing photoshoots and radio interviews and we're surrounded by people for twenty hours of the day. Sounds great."  
  
Harry is still sitting down, his brow furrowed in irritation as he looks up at Louis. His mouth is twisted, hands clasped tightly together between his knees. He's still shirtless from swimming before and Louis thinks faintly how ridiculous it is to be having this argument right now.  
  
"We'll still be together, Haz."  
  
"Right, like we've been 'together' the past few weeks?" Harry asks, and there's an accusation in his eyes that Louis doesn't like at all. "Because that hasn't actually been fun for me."  
  
Louis shifts uncomfortably, flicking his fringe out of his eyes. "It hasn't been fun for me either and you know it."  
  
"I don't know, you're not the one who has to hide back at the hotel while your boyfriend goes on a date with somebody else, meanwhile letting the media make you out to be a slut who sleeps with everything that moves."  
  
"No, I'm just the one who has to _go_ on the dates, I'm the one who has to listen to the media call you a slut, I'm the one who has to tell _everyone_ that we're not together because you can't do it."  
  
Harry looks devastated, his eyes widening in hurt, and Louis sucks in a deep breath. They've never really discussed that part out loud. He saw something Harry couldn't do and did it for him, simple as that. He's never viewed it as a weakness before but the lingering resentment in his voice seems to say so.  
  
"Sorry," Louis adds, feeling terrible. "I'm sorry, babe, I'm just -" he turns back to the railing and curls his fingers around it, squeezing the hot metal in an effort to abate some of his anger. "Let's not play that game, okay? We're both doing shitty things and it sucks for both of us."  
  
"Fine," Harry says, but he still sounds pretty angry. "I'm just really ready for it to _stop_ sucking."  
  
To Louis' shock, Harry actually gets up and leaves. Louis lets him go; it won’t do either of them any good to keep arguing when they're in this kind of mood. He flops back onto the lounge chair and throws his arm over his eyes. There's nothing he can do to fix this--the tickets are booked, the paps have been called, and Eleanor is already packing. All he can do is try to make up with Harry before tomorrow. He can't bear the thought of leaving in the middle of a fight.  
  
  
Louis stays out on the balcony by himself for nearly an hour, alternating between brooding and worrying about the week to come. The screams of the fans below don’t let up and Louis’ temper gets the best of him. He’ll deal with the consequences of sticking his finger up at them, but for now it just feels good to let off steam.  
  
By the time he wanders downstairs to the floor of the hotel the band has commandeered, Louis feels calmer. Not _better_ , necessarily, but more prepared to deal with Harry, to try and fix this quickly. If they’re out of sync for the show tonight the entire band will suffer, and Louis won’t let that happen, not for the last concert of the tour.  
  
He lets himself into their room quietly. Harry has settled into an armchair in the middle of the room, his long limbs scrunched up tight and tense. His laptop is open and he’s singing along to something sad and aching, his voice wrapping mournfully around the words _I need you so much closer._ Louis tries not to wince as he toes his shoes off at the door. None of this is a good sign.  
  
“You okay?” he says, because he can’t think of any other way to start this conversation.  
  
“Fine,” Harry says, but he doesn’t smile and he barely glances up from his screen.  
  
 _No you’re not,_ Louis thinks. They know each other too well, now, and he can pick up every clue to Harry’s mood. His body’s all folded into that chair like he does when he’s feeling small and young, when he wants attention from the boys or is missing his mum. His hair is flat and out of place, which means Harry’s tired and fed up with constantly fixing it. He’s even changed from his bathing suit into a pair of Louis’ thin pyjama pants (which are too small for him) and a long, loose t-shirt. In this weather, Harry’s basically been in underwear or less as often as possible, and Louis thinks he’s only gotten dressed because he feels vulnerable at the moment.  
  
“Rubbish,” Louis says, but gently. “You only listen to Death Cab when you’re wallowing in your own misery.”  
  
Harry closes his laptop and sets it aside, looking up at Louis with sad green eyes.  
  
"Wallowing can be good for you."  
  
"Not when we have a show tonight," Louis reminds him. He's still standing somewhat awkwardly, halfway between the door and Harry's chair. Normally he wouldn't hesitate to jump on Harry, maybe tickle him until he started giggling, but he knows it wouldn't be well-received. Instead, he tries for a smile. "C'mon, where's my happy Haz? Can't wallow on stage, darling."  
  
Harry rolls his eyes. "Don't patronise me," he says. "I'm allowed to be upset about this, alright? Just let me."  
  
"No," Louis blurts it without thinking and Harry's eyebrows rise.  
  
"No?"  
  
"No, I won't let you be upset, Harry, god. I don't exactly enjoy seeing you unhappy."  
  
Louis takes a couple of steps forward and ends up sinking into the sofa beside Harry's chair. He rests a hand on the arm of it, not reaching for Harry just yet. Harry's still wound tight and looking at him suspiciously.  
  
"Hey, look at me," Louis says, and waits until Harry obeys. "You know how much I hate this, right? You know I'm always counting down the days until things change, right?"  
  
"And when will things change?"  
  
It's such a simple question, but it's one that Harry asks often and Louis doesn't have an answer for it. Certain things have to happen before they can be out; he has to officially break it off with Eleanor, they need to renegotiate their contracts, they have to plan it carefully. There aren't clear dates in place for any of that, not yet; their management have been dangling it in front of their noses for months in order to keep them in check. They had to, because Louis and Harry would never be able to go through all of this unless they knew they had something to look forward to, an end date.  
  
Or. A start date, really.  
  
"I was thinking," Louis says slowly. "That maybe, if we do the break-up in September when the single is coming out, then have a couple of months of us both not dating, we could be out by December, maybe. If we try to get Simon and that to ride the publicity of it for the album..."  
  
"S'gonna be bad, though," Harry says, his voice soft. "Bad publicity, he won't like it."  
  
"Still publicity," Louis insists. "Even if they're saying horrible things about us they'll still be talking about us, right? And that'd be good for the album."  
  
Harry eyes him. "You've been thinking about this a lot."  
  
Louis shrugs, picking at a loose thread in the sofa upholstery. "You're not...you're not the only one who's ready, Harry."  
  
It feels like a massive confession and it hangs in the air between them. Louis swallows, feeling light-headed.  
  
Harry had been saying quite a while ago that he wanted to be out, and he pushes it more than Louis does. He flirts with guys on Twitter, never specifies gender when he's discussing romance, and he never even tries to cover up the way he looks at Louis. He's talked about it too, in dreamy tones, about how great it would be to be honest, to be role models and encourage others to be happy about themselves.  
  
Louis used to think Harry was braver than him, better, somehow. He just couldn't be like that, couldn't be as open and reckless. But that's not what Harry's doing, really. He's not _trying_ to out himself, not pushing it for laughs or reactions, he's just being exactly who he is and Louis absolutely adores him for it. Louis, for his part, holds his cards a little closer to his chest. It took him a little longer to figure things out for himself, and a lot longer than that to stop being scared of what other people think of it. Even now, some of the words fans use on them online make him cringe, and he wishes he were able to let them roll off him with a shrug and a joke the way Harry does.  
  
He used to think he was glad that they weren't out, glad to not have to explain himself, glad to not face the judgements and the ridicule and the hate. He _knows_ that's out there, no matter what, but Louis hasn't been able to face it, not yet.  
  
"Ready?" Harry repeats, his voice so hopeful that Louis has to reach for his hand and entangle their fingers.  
  
"Yeah. Ready." He meets Harry's eyes and takes a deep breath. "When they let us, as _soon_ as they let us, I am ready to tell everyone that...that I'm gay."  
  
"Lou," Harry squeezes his hand and tugs until Louis ends up shuffling over and into his lap, their fingers still linked. "That's amazing."  
  
Louis feels stupidly proud of himself. It's not the first time he's said it, but it's the first time he's not balked at the idea of telling anyone but his family and friends.  
  
"And," Louis adds, and cups his hand fondly over Harry's cheek. "While I'm at it, I think I'll be pretty happy to tell everyone about this awesome bloke I'm seeing."  
  
Harry grins, his eyes lighting up. "Oh yeah? What's he like?"  
  
Louis tilts his head, pretending to think. His thumb rubs at Harry's cheek, dipping into the groove of his dimple. "Well, he's younger than me. Quite dorky, sometimes, weird music taste. He's got a terrible habit of stealing food off my plate when I'm not looking, and he has bad breath in the mornings. Oh, and sharp elbows."  
  
"Sharp elbows?" Harry is trying to look offended but his eyes are still shining and his grin hasn't faded at all.  
  
"Mmm, always gets me right in the ribs when we're in bed. Horrible stuff."  
  
"Sounds it," Harry's hand has landed on Louis' hip, curling gently around. "Wonder why you stay with him, then?"  
  
Louis lowers his voice like he's telling a secret, and ducks in to touch his lips to Harry's ear. "He's _great_ in bed."  
  
Harry bursts into that glorious bark of laughter, his whole body shaking under Louis and Louis grins and presses a kiss to his cheek. "And he's sweet, and kind, and he cooks me eggs for breakfast and his hair always smells good, and he makes me laugh and he lets me get into bed with smelly feet," he presses another kiss to Harry's other cheek and leans back, pushing a wayward curl away from Harry's face. Louis' voice cracks a little as he adds, "And I love him very, very much."  
  
Harry pulls him in by the nape of his neck, so their noses brush and Louis’ eyes close. “He loves you too,” Harry whispers, and kisses him slow and sweet.  
  
Louis draws it out, from one kiss into the next, lets them linger. It feels like more than kissing, more like they’re connecting with each other for the first time in days. It feels like clicking back into place and Louis wants to sigh with the relief of it.  
  
When they finally draw back, Harry looks sated and warm, like he’s glowing from the inside out. “So, December?” he asks, slipping back into their previous conversation. “You really think they’ll want all the publicity about us at the same time as the album’s released?”  
  
“They’re idiots if they don’t want it,” Louis replies. He shifts slightly in Harry’s lap, resting his hands on his shoulders. “If not December, our contracts get renewed in January, right?”  
  
“Right.”  
  
“And I’m not signing _anything_ that keeps me away from you, not this time.”  
  
Harry’s head shakes fervently. “Me neither.”  
  
“So that’s it,” Louis draws a deep breath. “By January, that’ll be it.”  
  
Harry grins, suddenly. “You’re keeping your promise.”  
  
Louis knows he’s thinking about a certain black ring, the one that Harry only wore for a day before he put it away for safekeeping, the one that’s zipped carefully into a pocket of his wallet. Louis had bought it on a whim, at a tiny jewellery shop below Sacré Coeur, and had blushed furiously as he handed Harry the little silk bag it had come in.  
  
 _It’s kind of-- kind of a promise,_ he’d stuttered. _That, erm. That by next Valentine’s Day we’ll be able to do this properly. Be a real couple, you know. Not pretend anymore._  
  
Harry had taken it and put it on, his smile taking over his whole face. _It’s perfect,_ he’d murmured. Louis had been upset when Harry’s finger was bare a day later, but Harry had just kissed him and explained, _I don’t want to wear it until everyone knows what it means. I’m keeping it ‘til then, okay? I’m waiting for you. That’s my promise._  
  
Louis smiles back. “And you’re keeping yours.”  
  


The last night of the tour is a blur to Louis, a mess of smiles and laughter and excitement, and he’s never been so proud or happy to be a member of this band. There’s an after-party at the hotel and that’s even  _more_  of a blur, champagne and music and a ridiculous amount of euphoric hugging.

Then all of a sudden they’re packing, checking out and piling into vans headed for the airport. Some of the group are more hungover than others, but they all rest on the flight regardless, happily exhausted from all the work they’ve been doing lately. Louis doesn’t think about where he’s headed next. He’s happy to just be here now, curled against Harry with the other three boys close by. They talk in sleepy, happy voices about their favourite moments of the tour, and Louis thinks yet again about how lucky he is to have done these amazing things with his best friends.

 

For once, the flight is over too soon. As the plane starts to descend into a cloudy Heathrow, Harry clings to Louis' hand but neither of them talk about how soon they'll have to part ways.

Heathrow is a flurry of baggage claim and customs and security checks; they've all done this so many times Louis thinks he could sleep-walk his way through it, which is what it feels like half the time anyway. Even so, he's moving slower than usual, like if he dawdles enough at the passport desks he won't have to board his connecting flight to Nice.

He does, though, and when they reach the turnoff for his gate, the rest of the group all turn to him expectantly. Louis goes for the easiest goodbyes first, because the longer he avoids Harry's sad, soft eyes the better. There's so many people in their group, and Louis sinks into the hugs of stylists and assistants, their band, their security. Then it seems that everybody steps back and it's just him and the boys.

It feels strange to be the only one saying goodbye, that the other four are going somewhere he isn't. Louis presses his face into Niall's shoulder and teases Liam about Danielle until he's bright red and grinning uncontrollably, and makes sure to send his love to Zayn's parents and sisters. They all hug tightly, so tight that Louis can breathe in each boy individually.

Then there's just Harry.

He looks smaller than he should, his shoulders hunched and his hands in his pockets. Louis scratches the back of his neck awkwardly and glances at the other three. "Lads, do you mind if we have a minute?"

The boys shrink back with understanding murmurs, patting Louis encouragingly on the back. He doesn't want to do this, not now or ever, but especially not in public. The best he can do for privacy is a nearby bathroom, and Louis hates everything about this, hiding and closed doors and dirty secrets.

Harry is silent as Louis locks them in the disabled cubicle and Louis just hopes with all his being that this won't hurt as much as he thinks it will.

Once they're actually alone together, nothing happens. They're just standing there, a couple of feet of space between them, backed against opposite walls of the cubicle. Louis doesn't know what he was expecting--to be shoved into the wall, for Harry to cry or beg or yell?--but it wasn't this, it wasn't the two of them scuffing their feet and rubbing the backs of their necks like they're strangers.

Louis doesn't know what to say. What is there to say, that they haven't said already? How many times do they have to have this conversation, this argument? It's the same, every single time. The same problem, the same non-answer. They're stuck, and Louis is sick of it, and he's sick of being sick of it.

"Send my love to your mum and Robin and Gem, yeah?" Louis says, because it's normal and mundane and simple. Harry just nods, still looking at the ground. "And-- Haz, see your friends and have fun, okay? Don't mope around for the whole week."

"I don't mope," Harry says mulishly and Louis laughs softly.

"Yes you do, I've  _seen_  it, sweetheart. But you shouldn't, yeah? Go out with Nick and all his stupid hipster friends and talk about your weird music and take Lou to look at those houses she wants to see, and don't think about me."

Harry makes a scoffing sound that might mean  _how_  but Louis doesn't catch it properly. He closes the gap between them and slips his finger under Harry's chin, forcing it up so their eyes meet.

"I'm serious. You were so excited about the break and I know you've missed everyone, I know you were making plans. I want this for you. Promise me you'll try to have fun."

Harry's eyes search his and then his mouth sets into a stubborn line. "Only if you promise me the same."

Louis rolls his eyes. "That's playing dirty, Styles. A whole week with just El and me? God, what am I even gonna  _say_  to her half the time?"

And Louis is friends with El, he  _is_ , and she's lovely and sweet and all that, but...lately he's just so  _bored_  around her. They'd run out of things to talk about with each other months ago, repeated the same conversations dozens of times over. The fact is that if Louis knew El in a 'normal' life he just doesn't see how they would be friends. They don't suit each other at all; they don't have much in common and their personalities just don't match up enough to make for an interesting or enjoyable time. And nine months is a really, really long time to spend being friends with someone you only feel lukewarm about.

Louis is polite and friendly to her because she does the same for him, and she's only doing her job, but they've both felt the strain of it lately and Louis is pretty sure even she isn't looking forward to the week ahead.

"Be nice," Harry warns, but there's a slight shine of victory in his eyes. Louis knows that there's a jealous, vindictive part of Harry that's glad Louis is complaining about her.

"Really though. All we're going to do is buy more things we don't need and fake-smile at each other and make awkward jokes. Oh, and we'll both be too busy texting our boyfriends to even care."

"Oh, how is it going with her and Mark?" Harry asks, distracted, and Louis shrugs.

"Fine, as far as I know. As long as they're quiet about it, I don't really care."

"Hmm," Harry hums. "But your mum and the girls are coming out, so you can definitely have fun with them, right?"

"Yeah," Louis agrees. "Yeah, that's true."

That had been a bit of a negotiation. Originally Louis wasn't going to be able to see his family at all, but he'd bargained desperately for their presence. Louis only won when he agreed his mother and sisters would fly out on different days so that his pap shots with Eleanor looked 'clean.'

Harry smiles slightly. "So you play with the girls and chat to your mum and let El do her own thing. It won't be as awful as you're thinking."

 _Except you won't be there,_  Louis thinks, and wonders when this conversation became about his sulking instead of Harry's.

"Fine, so we both promise to have a good time even though we don't get to see each other on the first break we've had in months."

"Yep," Harry agrees with false bravado.

God, this is the worst. Louis isn't used to feeling this way around Harry, awkward and unsure and nervous. He knows he has to start saying goodbye properly, not stalling like this, but he just doesn't want to do it, not yet. Maybe there's still a part of him that thinks he can put it off forever.

His phone buzzes and it's Niall, a gentle,  _Paul says we gotta keep moving :(_  and Louis sighs. "We don't have much time," he says softly.

Harry stares at him for a moment, looking hopeless and young. Then he shocks Louis by lunging forward and wrapping himself around Louis in a bone-crushing hug. Louis finds himself clinging back, his face buried in Harry's shoulder and his arms going tight around his back. He closes his eyes and breathes Harry in, savours his warmth and his strength and his smell. Harry isn't talking or moving, he's just got his face tucked down into Louis' neck and he's holding, holding, holding.

Louis' phone buzzes again and he doesn't bother to check it, because he knows it's just another reminder that he needs to go. He lifts his head from Harry's shoulder, only separating from the embrace enough to see Harry's face. Harry's eyes are shiny and his mouth is trembling slightly. Louis can feel a lump forming in his throat, a painful ache, and he won't cry over this again, he  _won't_. "Hey," he says, and his voice is choked. "Hey, tell me something."

"What?" Harry asks, and he dips his head so their foreheads touch. Louis curls his fingers into the hair at the back of Harry's neck and holds on tight, so tight it's probably painful. "Does this end? Us, does this end?"

"What?" Harry says again. "What are you talking about?"

"Answer me, Harry," Louis squeezes the back of Harry's neck urgently. "Does this end?"

"No!" Harry says, sounding bewildered. "No, of course it doesn't."

"Right," Louis agrees, and he feels crazed and reckless and stupid. "We have  _so much time_ , babe. And this? One week, six months, a year of pretending? It's gonna mean  _nothing_ , you understand?"

"You mean..." Harry is breathing quickly, it ghosts against Louis' lips they're so close.

"I mean," Louis kisses him, presses their lips together and breathes endless promises against Harry's mouth. "I mean we'll look back on this year and  _laugh_."

He sounds fierce and unrelenting and certain, which is the complete opposite of how he's felt lately. But as soon as he's said it, Louis knows he's right. Things end; their careers will fade and one day Eleanor will be gone, friends will come and go but he's certain,  _certain_  that he'll never finish loving Harry.

There's a moment's pause as Harry processes all this, and then Louis is being kissed, hard and fast. Harry's hands are gripping his face, tilting his head up for it and Louis breathes out through his nose, rising onto his toes so he can return the kiss fiercely. It's desperate, nothing gentle or sweet about it, but Louis likes how it almost hurts, how his mouth feels bruised. It makes everything feel sharp and real, matches the fire in his chest that burns so bright for Harry.

The momentum of the kiss has him backing Harry against the wall, pressing every inch of their bodies together so he can feel the heat of Harry, the long length of him and his big hands still holding on so tightly. Louis is lost in it, visceral and painful and electric. He loses track of how long they kiss, and then they're not anymore, they're just breathing against each other with their heads pressed together and their chests heaving. Louis tangles his fingers in Harry's hair and doesn't let go.

 

So Louis goes to France, and lets the paps get their photos, and holds El’s hand and talks to her about nothing. They’re staying on a fancy yacht, which is nice because it’s at least a change from the endless hotel rooms. Louis likes the soft bobbing movement of it on the water and the sound of the waves splashing gently outside. It’s a peaceful, lovely place to be and rest comes easier to him than he had expected.

He and El don’t spend much time together. Louis is tired from crossing too many time zones in one day, and El seems happy to just lounge on the deck texting her friends about the French sunshine while Louis naps.

His mother and sisters arrive two days after that, and the joy they bring is enough to make this whole mess worth it. Louis’s always had a special relationship with his mum, and just being around her again makes him feel calmer and more like himself. They stay inside while the girls sunbake, talking about home and the family and everything Louis’s been missing out on.

Louis checks his phone a few times during their conversation, waiting for the right time to Skype with Harry, and his mum eyes him knowingly.

“You miss him, huh.”

Louis flushes a little, but it’s not like their relationship is any kind of secret from his mother. She’s basically named Harry her second son at this point.

“Yeah,” he says, putting his phone away. “Pathetic, right? S’only been three days.”

Mum tilts her head thoughtfully. “Well, for other couples it might be, but you’re so used to being together 24/7, so it’s different for you two. Is he doing okay?”

“I think so,” Louis hedges. “I mean, he said he hates being at the flat by himself. Other than that, he’s okay? Seeing his friends and that, which is good.”

(Harry had almost been shy about it, ducking his head a little as he talked about going out for drinks with Nick and his friends when they talked online last night. Louis had smiled and murmured a soft,  _that’s really good, babe,_  and Harry had seemed happy about his approval. Louis hopes this means Harry will keep trying.)

His mum hums. “Yes, I suppose. Poor dear.”

There’s a lull in the conversation and Louis shifts a bit anxiously, tucking his feet underneath himself as he rearranges himself on the sofa. “Mum?”

“Yes, sweetie?”

“Do you think...do you think it’s really dumb of me to think me and Harry’ll be together forev...for ages?”

His voice comes out soft and young, and he stumbles over the word ‘forever’ because it sounds ridiculous, something out of fairytales. That’s naive, isn’t it, to think you can be with someone forever?

Mum gives him a long, searching look. “Is that what you think?”

Louis shrugs, trying for nonchalance. “Dunno, I mean. We just get on really well, you know? I don’t know why we’d ever...not be together. I don’t want to not be with him, Mum. But then I think, that’s crazy, isn’t it? To think that far in the future when we’re so young?”

Because Louis gets like this sometimes, he lets himself float away on the idea of  _forever_ , of years and decades, a lifetime. It  _feels_  right, it feels like they’ll never end, but then the fear creeps back in. Louis isn’t an idiot, he knows some things are too much to hope for, that he should be more realistic. What he has with Harry makes him so happy, the kind of happiness where you’re terrified you’ll lose it any second because it’s almost too much, it couldn’t possibly be real. Couldn’t possibly be deserved.

Mum tilts her head, her expression gentle and warm. “Oh, darling. It’s not crazy to think you’ll be with someone you love for a long time. That’s how it should feel, and I love how sure you are about it. Just...try to remember that...Well, anything could happen, couldn’t it? Look at your father and I, fifteen years and then it’s over. People change, sometimes they don’t make each other happy anymore. Not everyone gets forever.”

Louis nods, but he almost can’t wrap his head around the concept. He’s too lost in this, now, too enraptured by Harry’s voice and his touch and his smiles, too in love with the way he feels waking up to Harry beside him. He can’t imagine not wanting that, not feeling this way for the rest of his life.

“I know,” Louis agrees. “Hardly anyone does, right?” and he’s thinking of divorce rates and break-ups, and how nothing seems to last these days, how it’s safer to be cynical because hope hurts sometimes.

It’s confusing as all hell, the part of Louis’ who’s desperately, madly in love warring with the part of him that’s telling him  _be cautious, protect yourself, nothing lasts forever._

“That’s true, but it doesn’t mean you can’t have what you’re hoping for,” Mum adds.

Louis laughs. “I don’t get it, Mum. Are you saying I should be making wedding plans here, or preparing myself for a break-up?”

Mum laughs too, and throws her hands in the air. “I don’t know either! Look, darling. I’m just trying to say...don’t be unrealistic. Don’t let yourself think that just because you love him everything will come easily, that you’ll last forever. You guys have something special, and you’ve been through so much already. I do think you’re going to last, and I want you to. I just don’t want you to think that you can...coast, I suppose. That love is all you need.”

 _“All you need is love,”_ Louis sings immediately, unable to help himself. Mum smiles indulgently.

“It’s not, though. Not for relationships, not for marriage. Not for life, Louis. You know why you and Harry have stayed together this long? It’s because you fight for it. Every day, every minute, you’re fighting for him, you’re  _working_  for this relationship. And relationships are work. I don’t want you to forget that.”

Louis nods. “I won’t,” he promises, and he doesn’t think he ever really has. He does work, constantly, fights his own instincts to look at Harry, smile at him, hold his hand, call him ‘baby’. There are only very specific times and places he can do those things, now, and sometimes he finds himself looking over his shoulder, even when they’re alone in hotel rooms. The paranoia of finding a camera lens blinking back at them never really fades away.

He must look upset, because Mum makes a sad, sympathetic face at him. “I know how hard you work already,” she says, and she shifts to his side of the couch to draw him into a cuddle. “Just remember what you’re fighting for, okay?”

Louis sighs and turns his face into her neck, breathes in her warm, unique Mum-smell. It’s soothing and makes him wish he was six years old, wish he was young and simple enough that everything could be fixed by this hug.

“But Mum, I...” Louis takes a shuddering breath, and her hand smoothing back his hair just makes him feel more breakable than ever. “I’m always fighting for him, I’m always fighting  _so hard._  I just want...I just want to stop fighting and be with him."

“I know,” Mum presses a lingering kiss to his forehead and Louis closes his eyes. “I know you do, sweetheart.”

 

 

That night Louis stretches out in his bed with his laptop pulled in close, the better to see Harry’s sleepy, slightly pixelated face. Harry is in his own bed in Holmes Chapel, and he seems much happier for it. Maybe Louis’ not the only one who’s had a few good conversations with his Mum this week.

They talk about stupid things, TV series they watch together and Harry’s golf swing (Louis doesn’t care much for golf but Harry is obsessed lately so he tries to be interested), and whether they need a new shower curtain for the second bathroom at home. Louis mostly just likes to listen to Harry and see his face, feel his presence. If he tries hard enough, he can imagine Harry in the bed beside him, how the mattress would dip with his weight and the feel of his warmth at Louis’ side.

When their conversation starts to die off a little, when it’s quiet and dark in their bedrooms, Louis knows he should sleep but there’s just one thing he still wants to talk about.

“Haz,” he murmurs, and Harry blinks big sleepy eyes at him. They’ve both lay down on their sides with their heads pillowed on their forearms, unconsciously mirroring each other like they tend to do sometimes.

“Yeah?”

“What do think it’ll be like when we’re older?”

“You mean for the band? We’ll be touring when we’re forty,” Harry replies confidently, and Louis smiles.

“No, love. I mean, us, I guess. After January.”

“..January?” Harry’s confused, but he catches on quickly. “Oh,  _January_.”

“Yeah, and...after that. Way after. We’ll still be us, right?”

Harry’s mouth curls up into a gentle, understanding smile. “Having doubts all of a sudden? What happened to looking back and laughing, and this not ending?”

“It won’t,” Louis says stubbornly, and blinks down at the bottom of the screen so as to not meet Harry’s gaze. “Sometimes I just need something to look forward to, I guess.”

“Me too,” Harry admits, when Louis raises his eyes to the screen Harry is looking back at him, young and vulnerable. It makes Louis feel better, to know he’s not the only one who needs this reassurance.

“So after January,” Louis prompts, and Harry’s brows furrow thoughtfully.

“After January, everyone will know about us.”

“That’s terrifying,” Louis responds with a nervous laugh.

“And awesome,” Harry reminds him. “For one thing, they can stop calling me the ladies’ man in interviews.”

“And spreading rumours about you breaking up marriages in the papers...”

“We could look at each other without getting bitched out by Anthony.”

“Talk onstage without the boys trying to get between us.”

“Sit next to each other in interviews again.”

“Tweet each other.”

“Talk about each other.”

 

They’re both smiling now; sappy stupid smiles. Harry’s eyes are bright and happy and Louis knows his are doing that stupid crinkly thing everyone seems to love so much. “I could tell everyone how good you are to me,” he says.

“I could tell everyone what my tattoos really mean,” Harry counters, and Louis glances at the hint of ink peeking from under Harry’s sleeve, his own handwriting forever under Harry’s skin.

“I could put my arm around you without worrying about it for ten minutes first.”

“I could hug you any time I wanted.”

"Sing to you."

“Hold your hand.” Louis notices how Harry’s voice wobbles a little on that one, and he knows how much it means to him, something so simple and yet so important.

“Kiss you.” Louis whispers. “Kiss you where anyone could see, darling, that’s what I want.”

“Yeah,” Harry’s voice is a little croaky and he reaches for the screen, touching at where Louis supposes his lips would be. “Yeah, I wanna kiss you all the time.”

They build up their dreams, twist words and stories into the air until it feels real, until it feels possible, plausible, inevitable. Louis falls asleep with Harry’s voice still in his ears, weaving the tale of their life together.

 

(For months, they’ll play this game. For months, they’ll come to each other in sadness and frustration, curl up in each others’ arms and murmur, _hey, tell me about when we’re older._ They’ll lay together and talk in soft, dreamy voices about buying a real house, maybe a puppy, and Christmas dinners at their place with Harry cooking, and going on dates without sneaking in the back door, and wearing a certain black ring bought on Valentine’s Day, and maybe, maybe, wearing a different kind of ring altogether.

It will be something just for them, something small and secret and hopeful which they can hold close to their hearts when everything around them feels like too much.)

 

 

 

Louis’ flight leaves Nice early in the morning, early enough that by the time he’s touching down in London it’s barely 9am. He and Eleanor part ways gladly in the Heathrow car park, both of them ready to see the boys they’ve been missing all week.

Louis is tired when he lets himself into their flat, and glad to find it quiet. There’s no noise, no TV or radio, which means Harry is still asleep. Louis climbs the stairs to their bedroom one by one, slow and deliberate. The door is cracked open because Harry doesn’t like the room to feel stuffy, and Louis eases it wider and pads across the thick carpet. Harry is deeply asleep, sprawled on his back with his arms flung out. He only sleeps like this when Louis isn’t there, like in his absence Harry has to try to fill the space any way he can.

Louis slips out of jeans and shirt, and climbs slowly into bed. He fits himself gently against Harry’s side, pulling the blanket up around them both. Harry doesn’t wake, but his arm curls around Louis’ shoulder in sleep, an automatic movement Louis is familiar with. He cuddles in with a blissful smile, slides his hand over Harry’s bare stomach and tucks his face into Harry’s neck. Harry smells like warmth and sleep and the sheets of their bed, like where Louis has belonged all this time.

Soon, Harry will start to wake, will press sleepy kisses into Louis’ hair before he comes to full awareness, before he mutters a hoarse, ‘hi,’ and his mouth stretches in a slow, lazy smile. He’ll kiss Louis’ cheeks and his mouth, gaze at him with hooded eyes and pass warm hands curiously over Louis’ skin, like he’s checking to see if anything has changed. Louis will nuzzle against his throat and smile when Harry shivers, and they’ll close their eyes against the sun streaming across their bed.

Louis will dream about the future again, and it will look brighter than ever.


End file.
